


Episode 23.5

by SasstrianPrissess



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abnormal Sustinance, Blood, Comfort, Creepypasta, Darkness, Death, Depression, Drink Me, Eat Me, Gore, Healing, Horror, Hurt, Katana, Knife-play, M/M, Mutilation, Part of Me, Part of You, Prey - Freeform, Recuperation, Self-Mutilation, Survival, Tears, Violence, Vore, predator - Freeform, revival, sick, warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SasstrianPrissess/pseuds/SasstrianPrissess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the tags were not self-explanatory, then just another final warning. THIS FIC WILL MAKE YOU SICK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Episode 23.5

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, since Halloween will be coming up soon, I thought I'd get this haunting piece of work out of my head. This is basically my take on the after effects of Episode 23.5 of Hetalia. Those of you who have never watched it, don't unless you want your fantasies to be ruined. I will admit to not seeing it, mostly because youtube glitches whenever I try, which is why I am able to bring you this piece of work. However, I did read a thorough description of it here: creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Axis_Powers_Hetalia_Episode_23.5
> 
> Although, you might not feel the need to read that since I am providing some of the details here as flashbacks. Still, it is a good thing to check it out on your own if you are curious about the actual details
> 
> Again I will warn you that THAT is not for the weak of heart or weak of stomach. I, myself, can hardly believe that I wrote such a thing to accompany the episode. Since countries cannot truly die (as they can only fade away), I just couldn't get Mutilated!Italy out of my head. This is also a dark fic featuring horrific depictions of smut. Happy Halloween Everyone!
> 
> This fic is also best read with "Murmur" by Mitsuda Yasunori on repeat in the background.
> 
> Also....just ignore the Halloween thing, I know that was my intended publish date but I didn't make it in time.

Italy's fingers glided over the long, thin, pale scars that traced his belly in the shape of a capital "I". This was the third night he'd done this whilst standing in nothing more than the same, blood soaked shorts he wore that time he, Germany, and Japan were living as castaways. The jacket he had worn that day was also blood soaked, the memorable item draped over the back of a wooden chair that was bathed in the silvery glow of the full moon.

His fingers reached for the jacket, bringing up the stiff material to his nose to inhale the dried, rusted scent. Beneath the iron, metallic scent was the faint smell of the salted ocean, and the subtle fragrance of the dried, sanded beach wood Germany had made a fire from. Veneziano closed his eyes, his nose pressed against the fabric, remembering the sharp, frozen sting of the ocean invading his esophagus and terrorizing his lungs. He remembered inhaling much of the liquid, his tongue drying and going numb as the liquidated salt shredded his soft, tender throat and polluted his once empty stomach.

* * *

_He fought, oh how much he fought, his eyes wide and burning as his painful tears and screams were swallowed by the cruel, gentle caress of the foaming, frothing waves. There was so much grit stinging his orifices, his throat now readily swallowing the topmost layer of silt from the shallow water he was face down in. He could feel a slight, heavy weight pressed upon his lower back (preventing him from standing), and upon the back of his skull (which prevented him from raising his head from the shallow water). He remembered how scared he felt, the fear of drowning, suffocating on the misery that Germany wouldn't save him from whomever his captors were._

_All at once, he thought that maybe it was not that Germany wouldn't save him, but that he couldn't. Perhaps even now, as his vision started to haze, then blacken, his limbs going numb and cold as the moon-chilled ocean softly sucked in his warmth for its own, Ludwig was fighting hard to rescue him. Kiku, too, slicing at the enemies that did this to him. A sweet, gentle smile barely lifted the corner of his lips as the very last drop of oxygen bubbled up from his slack mouth. His lungs no longer strained to keep that infinitesimal scrap of oxygen buried deep within his body. Veneziano felt that he could do without, considering how lightheaded he was feeling. There were small, tiny little pulses of light within the utter darkness his eyes were gazing upon without blinking._

_For a moment he wondered how he could look so comfortingly at the night sky like that, but that was his only comfort, the roar of the water that stopped up his ears prevented him from hearing anything more than that soothing lullaby. His stomach felt absolutely full, as if he had eaten a large amount of that pasta he had so craved hours ago. Briefly, he wondered when he had the chance to eat his fill of his national dish when he and his friends had been starving in want of civilized food and drink. After that thought, there followed only a blank expanse of a soft sigh that was greedily gobbled up by the caressing ocean, he knew he was going to be rescued, but first, he felt that a small siesta would be better to sate his pasta-filled, aching belly. Just...a small....nap..._

* * *

 

Warm toffee eyes opened into thin slits, reflecting back into Italy's eyes from the full-length mirror was a young man pressing a dirty, blood covered jacket to his face and glowing scars illuminating in the icy moonlight. Veneziano's eyes glittered dully, the reflecting gaze showing a primal hunger...a primitive arousal. His stomach churned, twisting his empty intestines as the soft tissue rubbed against the raw inner scars.

Scars that eventually healed over time.

Scars that no mortal would have survived long enough to tell about.

Scars...that were caused by his best friends.

* * *

 

_The scent of blood grew strong, his raw throat soaking with the iron taste as his gullet choked on whatever pasta his stomach hadn't pulled down to digest. He could hear muffled voices, male voices, a gruff soothing one that sounded like the owner was on the verge of tears and another that sounded remorseful, yet strong against something they had not wanted to do. There was the scent of burning salt and wood. Warm hands caressing his body, pulling...aching... A liquid sort of heat that seemed to have melted over his abdomen. This warmth tugged away the frigid ice that slugged through his veins, dulling the steady roar of the oceanic lullaby from his ears. The voices were getting clearer. Whomever was talking was whispering in bitter tones, as if in regret or at someone's funeral._

_There was a rhythmic squeeze of Italy's left hand, comforting. Why someone was squeezing his hand like that...he didn't want to think about it, because it felt as if the person doing it was trying their hardest not to break either being. It felt...wrong..._

_Callouses...the fingers of the hand squeezing his had callouses and rough pads as if from fighting many wars. This knowledge held a little comfort to him, for he had only ever held one other hand that matched the one his soft, painter hands was currently feeling. He felt his heart contract painfully as the soothing, comforting liquid heat that covered his body became hotter before cooling back down to the same luke-warm warmth._

_It was Ludwig...Ludwig had come!_

_His stomach began to wretch, bile rising up as he fought the dark haze that kept his mind submerged in it's tarry, sludge-like slime. Something felt wrong with the liquid warmth he was currently feeling, it felt like...it was congealing? Yes, congealing would be the only word to describe it. It was like blood that dried up over time. Sticky, warm, and wrong._

_Faces above his blurred as they swam into focus. Surely, there was Germany, staring down at his face with a look...that made Veneziano's heart twist in pain. Why was he looking down at him like that? Japan's face was much harder to read, but still, under that starry sky, the ruddy color of the fire glittered from the Asian's eyes showing that he too was in remorse. Why were they looking at him like that? What happened? What was going on?_

_...why were Japan's arms covered in blood?_

_His peripheral vision hazed, he saw Kiku reach out as if to press on his stomach...except...his hands went too deep. He felt another aching tug, his stomach cramping slightly as it was lifted...._

_LIFTED?!?!_

_Then there was a smell...an acrid, meaty sort of smell. Germany's hand, the one that had comforted the Italian, was gone. There, after a moment, the cloying scent of cooked meat hung in the air as well as whispers from Japan saying in his own language 'Itadakimasu'. Never before had the smell of meat made Italy so sick, and yet he felt like he was on the verge of...why did he suddenly feel like he were missing something and why did his abdomen throb in bitter pain as if he had been sliced ope-_

_"...Germany? ...Japan?..."_

* * *

"Yes..." Italy whispered, digging around in a nearby drawer for a small pocketknife Germany had once given him to use as a last-resort weapon should he ever be captured by the enemy. He found the cool, laminated wood handle, his fingers wrapping around the knife as he pulled it out from beneath his folded clothes. His fingers trembled as he held the weighty, collapsible weapon; the full weight of it resting in an innocent manner upon his palm.

With some difficulty, he managed to flip open the folded blade, the virgin steel glinting dangerously in the pale moonlight that streamed through his window. His heart raced, the excess blood pooling in his white cheeks like the rosy blush of a maid. Veneziano was no maid by any means, at least not any more. He had been violated in more than one way that night. Because on that night, he lost every bit of virginity his body had.

Already his prick steadily grew and rubbed salaciously against the threadbare. blood stained shorts as he thought about _that_ night. Out of all people he trusted, it was his friends who took from him the only thing he had left to give while on that forsaken island. Sure, at the time it may not have been for sexual pleasure, but the Italian could not help but feel as if it were. After all, it was not everyday your best friends performed an asphyxiation kink unto your body unknowingly, much less plunge a phallic-replacement into your skin moments later. Although, it was not _really_ phallic-shaped, but a katana, Kiku's katana. Veneziano had a feeling that, it probably was not Kiku, but Ludwig who had brought to his sleeping body that specific kink by drowning him.

Against the blood-pooling haze, the Italian's eyes widened a bit more from the thin slits they already were, taking in the dim room as well as a sudden, sharp inhale. He exhaled slowly, dragging the sharp blade up the rusted, crust of blood that coated the jacket he still held clutched within his hands. A few small flakes of dried blood cracked off and floated hazily like small wisps of dust onto the floor. Still there were those stubborn particles that clung to the silvery blade as if declaring that they belonged there. A small smirk flitted to the Italian's lips, the blade reminded him of an eager child who would do anything and _everything_ to please.

This blade reminded him of his past self; happy, eager, and most of all _innocent_. Before that night, he had never had a scar like all of the other countries did; his body was pure, unblemished. Now he would be like all of the rest, but his scar spoke of a different story unlike the others whose scars spoke of war, famine, and plagues. His spoke of cannibalism, sex, and divinity. It made him a bit happy knowing that he bore one with significant difference. Still, it pained him to see Germany's eyes upon his torso. Ludwig usually never had a problem with him going about half or even _full-on_ naked, but as of the recent years, the German seemed to be in pain every time Veneziano bared his torso around the house. Tonight he had decided to show the German that the scar he and Kiku had caused that night was one he wore with pride and touch more frequently than his natural erogenous zone (his wayward curl).

His warm eyes flickered back to the mirror as he now ran the cold blade up and down the puckered, silver scar, that same smile a permanent resident upon his lips. He allowed all else to fade away, the memorized lullaby of the singing ocean frolicking back into his hearing as the reflected stars from the night bounced from the reflective glass into his eyes. He remembered waking up to that...

* * *

_"I-Italy!?"_

_"Italy-s-san?!"_

_"Why, why do I...hurt?"_

_His pained voice sounded raw, scratchy...his abused throat tasting the cooked stench of something that shouldn't have been. He tried to sit up, finding that he was unable to do so since his stomach muscles had been cut away. That was when the panic began to sink in, he could see out of his peripheral vision that there was something extremely wrong with his body, there was so much red...so much rust colored_ somethings _upon what was left of his torso. A scared, tortured whimper left his throat as he tried his hardest to move his body to properly see, but there was too much, the balmy air pressuring his spine...!_

_"Ludwig-san..." he heard Kiku reply, ignoring the shuddering blasts of pain the Italian's words were laced with as he went a bit ways away to tend the fire and whatever else had been thrown to into the fire that made that awful...hunger inducing smell._

_"Vene..." He heard, more than saw the German mutter sadly. Before honey eyes could meet ice blue ones, he felt a strong, comforting squeeze to his left hand, the same squeeze from earlier...the one that screamed 'I'm sorry'._

_Another whimper escaped, thick-congealing blood welling up to his tongue._

_"I'm sorry, Veneiziano...we..." Ludwig looked away as if he couldn't stand to see the life still flickering dully within the scared amber orbs._

_That was when it clicked; Kiku's blood soaked arms, His torn open torso, Germany's sad, distant look...the acrid stench of cooked meat. Italy tried to clear his throat of the chilling blood, the sound hollow and open. His tongue felt thick and dry, as well as his mouth. The Italian's eyes were beginning to haze as he stared continuously up at the starry sky. No tears came to his eyes, it seemed that, like the blood, they had congealed and remained trapped within his eyes._

_"Ludwig...it's okay." He managed to rasp, his voice beginning to dull as the reality of the situation began to slip into his mind._

_There was no way he could feel cheerful about what was happening, but regardless, his lips drew back into a small, sweet smile. His fear had relatively slipped away, replacing the terror with acceptance. It's not like he really could do anything about it if he had the chance, he was the weakest country out of the three of them and was most likely to run away at the sign of any danger. In a way, this was like his Grandpa had said long ago 'survival of the fittest'. Veniziano was unfit to survive, as he was the weakest, so it was only natural that he be sacrificed so that the stronger will survive. He accepted this, for this was his fate._

_When the German had heard his name called, he too, flashed a small smile down at the prone Italian, his bigger hand squeezing the cold, small one reassuringly. There were tears within the cold, blue eyes, but Veneziano knew, that they wouldn't fall...Ludwig was too strong. Germany wouldn't cry, not until he knew he was completely alone. That last smile, gazing upon the German soldier, was the last thing Italy concentrated on as the pinprick stars faded and his vision struggled to lock onto the blonde's visage just a little longer. The Italian's body felt so utterly numb and cold, the only warmth he now focused on was the shared heat from Ludwig's hand. He felt...sleepy. Yes, it was time for him to rest once more. However, he no longer had the strength to close his eyes, instead he left them open, taking that last look of Germany and burning it into his memory, that way he could have a comforting face to look at while the darkness consumed him._

* * *

That same smile pricked the corner of his lips, the blade flush against his abdomen as his body heat transferred to the once-cold metal. Downstairs, he heard the heavy wood door open and slam shut and the dogs (Ludwig kept) barking, signaling the arrival of the drunken German. There was a loud shout and the dogs quieted at the severe words of their master. Heavy, booted footsteps sounded against the wooden stairs as the well-built German made his way to the bedroom. The footsteps were uneven, as if the blonde had drunk deep and well, no doubt thanks to a drinking contest with the Nordics or even a shot bet with Russia. This made the Italian giddy as he slid the sharp blade downwards to his full cloth-covered prick, barely nicking the scar as it traveled down. Infinitesimal droplets of blood welled up in a few spots, but never fell for they were not yet heavy enough to run.

Just as he heard the heavy, brass doorknob turn, Veneziano turned as well to face the door. The smile he wore since earlier hadn't faded in the slightest, instead it softened and became more loving as the moonlight slipped through the cracking door and illuminated the tall blonde. For a moment, Germany only stood within the doorway, blinking and adjusting his sight to the half naked Italian who held a blade to his stomach. The thin, blonde brows furrowed as a tight grimace pulled back the sharp lips.

"Vene...vhy are you...there?"

There was not a slur that dimmed the strong accent, it spoke out loud and clear within the smooth baritone. Ludwig cautiously took another step further into the room, shutting the door behind him as he eyed Italy with that same face from the island so long ago. He knew very well what the shorter male was doing, it was like clockwork and always somewhere around the same day he and Japan...

"Ve...Luddy~" Veniziano purred, drawing the knife up his torso to nick at the skin once more, drawing even more blood, "You know I sleep here too."

"Ja, I know, but vhy are you _there_ specifically," The German persisted, watching how the dark blood shone black within the moon-lit room, "Und vhy do you have that knife?"

"Kiku is too protective of his katanas," Italy stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A weary sigh left Ludwig's lips before he could stop it. He knew that it was his fault that Italy had spastic relapses like this. It was like an ingrained, habitual memory for the Italian that he was lucky enough to escape the fact that he didn't have to choke the brunette _yet_. Germany had hoped that Italy hadn't caught just who _exactly_ was the one who had drowned him that day.

"Germany...you need to help me..."

Ludwig knew he would help Veneziano too, ever since Italy became relatively "normal" the German had indulged the little Italian in whatever he could want; kisses, returning hugs, buying him his favorite "gelatos" for his _meranda_ , and he even bought a new puppy (only because Italy claimed that the big Doberman and German Shepard dogs he already had were too rough with him). However, because the Italian had out a knife, he was not all that ready to agree, but he would agree nonetheless. It also helped that he had imbibed in a little of the stronger beer available at the bar before hand, not that Gilbert helped any by challenging him to a drinking contest.

"Vith?" The German asked, slowly walking towards the bed to sit down on...the room had begun spinning ever since he stepped into the room.

"Remembering," Italy spoke after a moments hesitation, walking closer to Ludwig as he trailed the knife down his side using the flat of the blade, "Every time I try to relive that day, something is always missing. Do  _you_ know what it is?" 

With that question lingering before Germany's face, the Italian had seen it fit to sit upon his lap facing him whilst running the blade at an angle over Ludwig's black muscle shirt....starting from the bottom hem and going up. During that explicit amount of thought time, the German had yet to give an answer, instead he bit his tongue in order to keep from speaking what the brunette wanted to hear. The Italian then pulled a little at the sliced shirt, the rise and fall of the blonde's chest helping expose his Aryan skin further.

"I know what it is," Veneziano replied, pulling at the straps of the muscle shirt and slicing those as well to fully remove the tank top, "the thing I'm missing....it's the feeling of being _empty_.

**Author's Note:**

> This was one epically long prologue.... Well next chapter will be smut based, promise!


End file.
